


Translation (Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell)

by mayseriouslyunusual



Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell (TV), Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell - Susanna Clarke
Genre: Gen, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-25
Updated: 2015-06-25
Packaged: 2018-04-06 03:51:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4206882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mayseriouslyunusual/pseuds/mayseriouslyunusual
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Childermass is struggling to read Vinculus.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Translation (Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell)

**Author's Note:**

> This is a really quick fic I wrote in an evening. It's un-beta'd, beause my beta reader is my dad and he hasn't finished the book, so I didn't want to give him spoilers. It should probably be longer, it's perhaps a little rushed, but I'm lazy.
> 
> Feedback is really appreciated!

“That won’t work, you know,” said Vinculus, peering over at Childermass’ detailed drawing.

“Quiet,” the Yorkshireman muttered in reply, gritting his teeth. He dipped his pen in the ink again, and carefully copied another character.

“That’s wrong,” Vinculus said, pointing at another part of the picture.

“No, it’s not.”

“Yes it is. There’s another line through the middle.” Vinculus grabbed for the pen to make the correction, and ink spattered across the page.

“Bloody idiot!” Childermass exclaimed. Not only had the picture been ruined, but ink had spotted his shirtsleeve also.

“It was useless anyway.” Vinculus dropped to sit cross-legged on the floor, and began tracing the characters on his arm with his finger. “The King’s book will not be copied by you, or anyone. You might manage phrases, but the whole book? Not by any road, magician.”

“So I’m just supposed to stare at you with your shirt off until the letters make sense?”

Vinculus shrugged. “It was what the Derbyshire man did.”

Childermass sighed and began to gather up his papers and quills. “That is enough for today. It is late, and writing by candlelight will ruin my eyes.”

“What makes you think you can read me anyway?” said Vinculus, as he slipped his shirt back on.

“If I do not, who will?” growled Childermass.

 

The next morning, Childermass threw the ink-spotted shirt at Vinculus, along with the instruction to “Clean it!”

“Clean it? How?” Vinculus muttered in reply, looking at the sleeve incredulously.

“Milk works for getting ink stains out,” said Childermass, as he pulled on a clean shirt. He rolled up the sleeves this time.

“Where am I to find milk at this hour?”

“Use your initiative.”

 

Childermass used the quiet of Vinculus’ absence to write up three spells that he hoped would help with decoding the King’s letters. One was used for translating foreign languages, another to make the meaning of something clear. The final one, which he had less hope for, was to find the way when lost. All the spells were long shots, but they were the best he had for the moment. He blew out his breath in a long exhalation, and sat back to wait for Vinculus’ return.

 

The street magician came back a half hour later and dropped Childermass’ shirt into his hands. The Yorkshireman inspected the sleeve; the ink was now no more than a few faint grey marks. It still smelled of milk.

“Did you not rinse it out?” he asked, looking up.

“I was supposed to?” said Vinculus, as he flopped down on his bed.

Childermass rolled his eyes and set the shirt aside. He would finish the job later. “Come,” he said, “I have some spells to try.”

Vinculus sat up and began undressing. Childermass sat in front of him and consulted his spell sheets. The first did nothing except make his vision wobbly, the second did not even do that. The third showed him a vision of a moor, though he had no clue as to why. With all, the letters remained unintelligible blue marks. Childermass growled and scrunched up the spells, throwing them into the corner of the room in frustration. He sat forward with his head in his hands.

“Have you considered that normal men’s magic will not work?” said Vinculus, “The Raven King was raised in Faerie, he will have performed their magic.”

“That is true,” said Childermass, looking up, “I’m doing this wrong. But how does one perceive things as would a fairy?” He considered for a moment Jonathan Strange’s method of induced madness. No. That was too risky. He would not try it. Well, not yet anyway. He stood up and paced the length of their rented bedroom, back and forth for what must have been twenty minutes. An idea struck him, and he stopped short.

“What?” asked Vinculus, who had been regarding Childermass from his seat on the bed.

“You do not have to be mad to see things in an unusual way.” Childermass seated himself in front of Vinculus, then turned his chair sideways. He unfocused his eyes, and peered sidelong at Vinculus. The letters began to change slightly. Childermass shifted his position, and the letters came into focus. He could make out the words ‘Two magicians have left England…’. He gasped and looked away. The method of reading was intensely uncomfortable, and was already giving him a headache. Despite this, he laughed. It was so _simple_.

“What is it?” said Vinculus, jumping up.

Childermass massaged his aching temples.

“I can read you.”


End file.
